Who knew a simple weekend bachelorette party could turn my world upside down? And it wasn’t even mine. When my assistant producer, Sandy Wynne, requested a few days off to celebrate with friends, I couldn’t refuse. No problem covering her two live shows. I’d done it before I’d hired her anyway. Granted it had been awhile, but TV producing was like riding a bike, right? Little did I know Sandy’s dogsitter would have an emergency and her terrorist Jack Russell Terrier would end up in my lap.
For the record, I don’t hate dogs. I just prefer sleek, independent and litter-box trained cats, which makes me the least popular person in Barkview, the dog friendliest city in America. Here designated leash lanes lead to hound play grounds, and every resident owns a BFF (that’s a “best furry friend” in this town) except me.
My name is Catalina Wright, Cat for short, a bona fide cuss word in this canine-crazed community. Fortunately, over the past ten years I’ve developed a survivalist’s sense of political correctness. I have one of those dream jobs coveted by dog lovers everywhere. I am the executive producer of my aunt, dog psychiatrist Dr. Charlotte Barklay’s talk show, Throw Him a Bone, KDOG’s nationally syndicated look at life from Fido’s perspective. Since I work mostly on booking show content these days, the thought of keeping up with the live production pace did give me pause.
“Avoid dead air” my mantra, I sat in the glass phone booth we fondly called a studio control room. My hand hovered mid-center on the Star Trek-inspired panel as I refamiliarized myself with the many technical elements involved in executing the production. No need for the prerecorded episode Sandy had set up just in case. O-she-of-little-faith. I had this covered.
So well in fact that at the fifteen-minute-to-air countdown, I relaxed, feet up on the granite counter, savoring my go-to grande caramel cappuccino. When security tapped on the glass door, I confidently waved them in.
Not my best plan it turned out. Madcap barking and a blizzard of white, needle hairs announced Jack, the Tazmanian devil dog’s, arrival. I spewed my coffee. Not on the cow patched Jack Russell, but all over the control panel which suddenly lit up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. Furrballs! What did yellow and orange lights mean anyway?
My feet hit the ground. Somehow I managed to steady the coffee until the dog flying-leaped for my arms. So much for saving my liquid pleasure, Jack nosed the paper cup right out of my hand. I tried to catch it, but the cup end-overed, spilling the entire sixteen-ounces of piping hot liquid. My pant leg took a direct hit. The rest pooled on the floor.
Watch out Hollywood, the ensuing slap-stick-comedy routine needed no further choreographing. I screeched as I hopped foot-to-foot, watching in horror as the dog sailed past me. Jack bounced off the padded chairback and landed on the floor, tumbling right into the caramel puddle.
Never great in a crisis, I just stood there frozen until the dog struggled to his feet and shuddered. Not a delicate, “I’m wet” quiver, but a full-leaded puppy-shake that started at the tips of his ears and ended with a tail-quaking shiver that flung coffee like a twirling mop.
Forget my steaming pants and perma-stained French cuffed white blouse. Beige globs trickled down the glass walls, computer monitors and blurred my “don’t-forget” Post-it note trail lining the control panel.
The five-minutes-to-air alarm buzzed, snapping me out of it. My aunt now perched on the set’s claw-foot, Victorian sofa with her Blenheim Cavalier King Charles Spaniel draped in true majestic form across her lap.
Four minutes and counting. I yoga breathed. Jack sat sphinx-style in my chair, the pale brown patches drying like late season straw in his fur. No time to reprimand or displace him. Except for my pride, neither one of us were hurt. The show must go on.
I scrambled to the control panel. Red lights lead to yellow and green. The orange lights had disappeared. Perfect. The system had self-diagnosed. I waved to the cameraman to begin the one minute countdown.
Ten seconds. I flipped the On-Air switch. We were live.
Aunt Char started speaking. . . Suddenly, the control panel snapped, crackled and popped. The electrical short flashed an apocalyptic white then the whole room went can’t-see-your-nose black. Omg! The dreaded dead air–a producer’s worst nightmare.
I sucked in my breath and counted three heartbeats until the emergency generator rumbled on. I turned on the recorded episode Sandy had teed up. Confident all was good, I nudged Jack aside and I collapsed into my chair.
Yup, the heart-pounding chaos of live TV. I’d missed it.
Shepherded to Death, A Barkview Mystery #3
Genre: Cozy
Release: May 2022
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SIT AND STAY FOR THIS YUMMY DOGGY TREAT!
It’s a perfect job for the right person in the wrong place: she’s a cat lady and her name’s even Cat– yet here she is, working for cable station KDOG in a place called Barkview, the dog-friendliest town in America.
Worse, she’s just become the babysitter and bodyguard of a 60-pound attack dog named Gem, who thinks she’s the bodyguard.
Until her owner was shot with a poison dart, poor Gem was the beloved pet of Barkview’s toniest jeweler and his wife. But now Ariana, the widow, has to go into protective custody— it seems she and her husband were in the witness protection program. So she begs Cat to take charge of her baby till the murder’s solved, knowing full well that Cat is going to solve the murder and Gem will help her: she can identify the murderer.
Sadly, the murderer shot Gem too— though only with a tranquilizer, enabling them to wreck the jewelry store, apparently in search of the one missing item— a priceless yellow diamond on loan for a jewelry exhibit.
As it happens, the loan was arranged by the former mayor, whose relentless pursuit of Barkview’s very own missing treasure— also a fabulous yellow diamond— led to his wife’s recent murder.
Coincidence? Cat thinks not. And she runs with the big dogs in investigative circles.
Cozy fans will fall in love with Barkview, reporter sleuth Cat, and overprotective Gem, as author Wilson weaves her clever way through this delightful small-town mystery, scattering verbal treats and comic gems that’ll keep you chuckling.
Meet the author
C. B. Wilson’s love of writing began when she read her first Nancy Drew book and reworked the ending. Studying at the Gemological Institute of America, she discovered a passion for researching lost, stolen, and missing diamonds. The big kind. Her fascination with dogs and their passionate owners inspired Barkview, California, the dog-friendliest city in America. C. B. lives in Peoria, Arizona, with her husband. She is an avid pickleball player who enjoys traveling to play tournaments. She admits to chocoholic tendencies and laughing out loud at dog comics.
She would love to hear from you all. Connect with C. B. Wilson at cbwilsonauthor.com, barkviewmysteries.com, on Facebook, and on Instagram at @cbwilsonauthor.
Keep up with all the news from Barkview by joining The Bark View, a monthly newsletter reporting all things dog. Enjoy a monthly dog treat recipe. Learn something new about dogs in Cat’s favorite column Wow! A dog did that? Join at: barkviewmysteries.com.
All comments are welcomed.